


Two Years

by catmanu



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: I am so sorry, M/M, Macdeau, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, am i really sorry though?, buttplay, exercises in pure objectification, video chat sex: easier than phone sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: An important day deserves to be celebrated, and Justin finds a way to make it happen.





	Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I don't write and post all in one go, so this is probably fifty shades of sloppy and imperfect, but you know. Sometimes you just have to write the celebratory PWP. Happy Manuversary, and vive le Macdeau!

The scheduled video chat request came through just as Emmanuel was shutting his office door.If he could, he’d _lock_ the door anytime a video chat request from Justin appeared on his phone, but it wasn't worth the suspicion.  And wasn't the slight thrill of it all part of the fun, anyway?

"You've got about ten mi--Well.  _Good_ morning, Mr. Right Honourable Prime Minister."  Justin was sitting, unclothed and cross-legged, on the bed in the guest room he used for certain types of phone calls.  These types of phone calls, to be specific.  In the soft glow of the early morning light--it was only 5 AM in Ottawa, after all--his thick hair was unbrushed, asymmetric, and his eyes were droopy from sleep.  Emmanuel wondered when they'd get to it and invent a way to touch someone through a screen.  He'd seen this version of Justin just often enough to be able to imagine with each of his senses.  In his sleep, and close to it, Justin was like his hair--a wild tangle of limbs that crept ever closer, an invasive vine species, but one with the most beautiful flowers north of the equator.  If technological advancement were on Emmanuel's side and he was touching Justin right now, his skin would feel warm and soft, his heart would beat calmly, and his cheeks would have a hint of stubble when he kissed Emmanuel good morning.

 _"Shhhh,_ " Justin said, and held his finger to his lips.  He leaned back against the pillows, letting his legs stretch out across the bed, luxuriating like sleepy, indulgent royalty.

Emmanuel wrapped his hands around his mouth and stage-whispered back at him.  "Obscene.  You have ten mi--Damn it, Justin.  You're much too bold for whatever time it is there--no,  _stop."_

Justin wrapped his hand around his cock with a little sigh.  He stroked himself slowly, his eyes right on the camera.  Well...this was how this morning was going to end up.  Emmanuel leaned back, propped his feet on his ornate desk, and made himself at home in this strange home of his.  Justin improved the decor.  The gold with all its pomp and history and the more contemporary pieces they'd added early on were fine.  But Justin was a collector's item.  The artist had only made one.

"Very nice," he said.  "I can think of a lot of social media experts who'd envy this perfect camera angle."  Emmanuel watched Justin's well-sculpted abdomen work.  It was beautiful as always, and his mind and body were officially interested, it went without saying...but he  _had_ seen this before.

"Manu,  _shhhh_ ," Justin said.  "Do you  _ever_ shut up?"

"If I have something good to listen to, of course I do."

"Watch."

Justin leaned mostly out of sight and returned with a bottle of lube.  Emmanuel raised his eyebrows.  

"I thought up a special treat for you," Justin said, leaning back on the pillows with his legs propped up.

"A quick one?"  Justin was opening the bottle, applying it to two fingers.  He felt his eyes widen.

Justin laughed softly.  "I'll take as long as I want, Manu," he said.  "I can see it in your eyes...I've got you now..."

And there before Emmanuel's widened eyes, he took a breath and worked one of his lubed fingers inside hi--Emmanuel slid his feet off the desk and slammed them into the floor a little too loudly.  He leaned forward, scrutinizing the sight of Justin sighing, adjusting to the finger inside him.  In Ottawa, Justin bit his lip.  In Paris, Emmanuel did the same.

"Is it better than me?"

"Different...It's pretty wild that I'm doing this..."

"Well, go on, stick it in farther.  Think about when I get you ready.  How far do I go in?  What do I do?"

"You fill me up, Manu," Justin sighed.  His eyes fluttered as he worked his finger farther in.  "I can't go as deep but..."

"It doesn't matter, sweet thing," Emmanuel reassured him.  "Make yourself feel good.  For me.  That's it.  That's it..."  A mix of satisfaction and discomfort played across Justin's face in the soft light.  " _Breathe,_ sweet thing."

"Should I imagine it's you?"

"No.  Why would you do something so mundane when reality is so much better?  You're lying there like this, fucking yourself for me, aren't you?  You're exposed...you're vulnerable...and I'm staring right at you."

"Oh."

"You're the only thing on my mind."

"... _oh_..."  Justin gasped.  "I'm going to try--"  He fumbled to work a second finger in to join the first, his face scrunching up as he did.  "I'm-- _now_ it feels more like you.."

"No.  I'm not there, Justin.  I'm not the one stretching you out like that, I'm not the one fucking you..."  Conversations like this required quiet voices by nature, but Emmanuel noticed his had dropped even lower.   He knew that when he spoke that quietly it conveyed a certain urgency.  It made Justin listen.  He let his palm rest on the uncomfortable bulge in his pants Justin had caused and thought about what to say next.  The bedroom in Canada was growing lighter.  Justin panted in front of him, his cheeks red.   He seemed to have found a rhythm. His cock was arcing up from its tidy nest of dark curls--unlike some of the rest of Justin, it was never anything but graceful, perfect, ready to perform--and as he watched Justin moan and take it into his hand again, he gave instructions.

"Curl your fingers up a little.  You know, like this."  He demonstrated.  "I have to use this hand because my other is a bit busy."

"Oh.  Can I see?"

"No.  You have other things to do.  Like doing what I'm showing you."

Justin followed his directions, a confused look crossing his face, his nose and lips twitching a little, and then his mouth dropped open and he moaned from somewhere deep in his stomach.

"Oh, _fuck_ , Manu, how do you know how to do that?"

"I've done it to both of us."

"To--Well, I  _know_ you've done it to me, but to yourself?"

"Why not?  It's all part of the human experience, isn't it?" 

Emmanuel ran his tongue across his bottom lip slightly, just slightly, watching Justin's strong arms at work on himself.  It looked like he hadn't gotten a haircut in a while.  His hair fanned out around him on the pillows and hung into his eyes.  Emmanuel's hand moved of its own accord, slipping under his pants.  He definitely hadn't told it to do any such thing.

"So, how is it?" he asked.

"Fucking amazing..." Justin panted.  "You're just...one of a kind...But I want to stop talking now.  I want you to listen to me.  I want you to...enjoy me..."

 _What do you think I've been doing this entire time?_ it was tempting to ask.  But Emmanuel had said it himself just before.  He was happy to be quiet when there was something worth listening to.  This was going way over the scheduled time, but the hand down his pants didn't much care and upon quick review, neither did he.

"I'm your gift, your anniversary gift," Justin whimpered, Justin with a big hand expertly, gracefully stroking himself, clean, tidy Justin with two fingers working his own prostate with a look of transcendence on his face.  "Look at me...watch me..."

Emmanuel forced himself to put both of his hands back into view.  He didn't have the kind of afternoon planned that would support the strange, relaxed exhaustion he often felt post-Justin.  There was always tonight.  That's what memories were for.  He propped his chin on his hands instead.  Justin whined on the bed, his toes and feet curling, his hands losing their rhythm.

 "I'm still watching," Emmanuel whispered.

Justin came ferociously, because that was the only word for it,  _ferociously,_ his body lifting half-off the pillows and strangled cries coming from his throat.  Emmanuel watched, his eyes so wide open they felt stuck that way for good, as he shook from the intensity.

Justin flopped down onto the pillows again, sighing.  Emmanuel imagined he would be glowing all day.

"I hope you have a towel," Emmanuel said.  "I think you've got some--"  He tapped his chin.

"So?"

"So?  You're the one who likes to run to the shower, not me."

Justin sat up and stared right at him.  The screen and the distance became irrelevant; it was as though they were together.  He looked relaxed, peaceful.  His eyes glimmered in the brightening morning light.  It was going to be a beautiful day in Ottawa.  It was already a beautiful day in Paris.

"Happy two years, Manu," Justin whispered.  "I remember seeing the election results..."

"Really?  I can't remember.  How did it all work out?"

Justin grinned.  Whether he was in on the joke or had somehow missed it really didn't matter.  His smile was so sincere.

"You  _won._ "

**Author's Note:**

> As always: find me at @emmanuyell on instagram!


End file.
